


Father of the Heart

by grav_ity



Series: The Rohan Project [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-11
Updated: 2006-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old Rohirric custom sees Merry honoured in the Golden Hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thank you to Amy who let me bounce ideas off her at ridiculous hours of the night and betaed. And also to Marigold, who made it make sense.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine at all. gollum
> 
> Rating: Kid-friendly

**Father of the Heart**

_And in the year 3020, Éomer King took to wife the Lady Lothíriel, who came from the glittering city by the sea to live amongst her lord’s people. They wed at Midwinter and though the wind howled around Meduseld, all those within rejoiced. For the blood of Gondor and the blood of Rohan was now doubly mixed and Men were stronger for it._

_And in the year 3022, the Lady Lothíriel was brought to bed with child and was delivered of a healthy boy in the morning of early spring. And Éomer King made for them a great celebration and gave the babe the name of Théodred, after his cousin who perished at the ford of the River Isen.  
\- - The Latter Days of the House of Éorl (translation)_

Pippin and Merry felt very differently about the great hall of Meduseld. To Pippin, the hall would always be the place where he had looked into the Palantír, and the memory of that horror was not easily driven from his mind. Merry’s thoughts were no more joyous, for he remembered a King he had not served for long enough, and all the tales that King desired to hear from him that were never told. All the times they had stood in Meduseld, war had been upon them and times had been desperate and they were almost afraid at what they might find within its walls on this visit.

Rohan was much changed from their last visit. Then, they had been laying a King to rest and even though they stayed on for the celebration of Éowyn’s trothplighting, there had been a subdued nature to the whole affair. The rejoicing then had been quiet and solemn, quite a bit more like the celebrations they had witnessed in Minas Tirith. Thus it was that Merry and Pippin were quite unprepared for what they were about to experience in the Golden Hall.

The hall was hung with streaming fabric, brocades and silks, of blue and green and red and silver. For Lothíriel loved much the colours of the sea and sought always to join them with the colours of her husband’s tradition. Everywhere, it seemed, flowers sprung from the walls and the wooden columns had been repainted so that they shone brightly in the sunlight that streamed through the uncovered windows. Everything was light and airy and still seeped with Rohirric custom as horse heads peaked from behind the less permanent decorations and the smells in the air were of roasted meat and clean burning wood fires.

Laughter hung easily in the air and Haleth, son of Háma, announced their arrival to the King and his hall.

“My lord Éomer, here there are guests for you and for your son also.” Haleth’s voice rang clearly through the hall and a happy silence fell. “Meriadoc the Magnificent, Knight of Rohan and Sir Peregrin Took, Knight of Gondor!”

Éomer had changed little about the surroundings of his seat, save that he had put in place another, of equal height and make, for his lady to sit upon. The hangings he had left in the memory of his uncle, for their make was that of his own mother, and he had loved her dearly also.

“Welcome, brave Halflings!” Éomer called. “Come forward, my friends, for it is long since we have looked upon each other and I would see how the years have treated you.”

Merry and Pippin made their way to the front of the hall, Merry often looking up into a familiar face as the warriors of the battle for Minas Tirith called out to him in recognition. By the time they reached Éomer’s seat, both hobbits were grinning hugely, their apprehension assuaged.

“Hail Éomer King!” said Merry, bowing deeply in the fashion of Rohan.

“Our service to you and your family.” Pippin added, a twinkle in his eye.

“You are most welcome!” Éomer laughed. “You have grown taller still! How are there still clothes in the Shire to fit you?”

“The tailor complains to no end, my lord.” Merry replied.

“But where is Master Samwise?” Lothíriel asked, her voice sweet and melodious. “Surely you told him that he was also invited.”

“Sam’s wife Rose is expecting again, my lady.” Pippin said.

“We had news of his first born lass.” Éomer nodded. “Is this his second then?”

“No, my lord.” Merry said, smiling. “His third.”

“Bless all hobbits!” Éomer declared laughing. “You two will be hard pressed to keep up. Unless there are secrets that you are keeping from your lord and king, Master Holdwine!”

Pippin laughed and Merry turned a fine shade of pink.

“No, my lord.” Merry said finally. “I keep no secrets from you. Although I have it fairly good authority that Pippin welcomed your invitation to escape the notice of several – ”

Merry stopped as Pippin elbowed him in the open spot between the bindings on his breastplate. He coughed and would have continued despite the interruption, but Éomer and Lothíriel were already laughing so he deemed it unnecessary.

“Bless all hobbits, indeed.” Lothíriel agreed. “For you are a merry people. But come; meet the boy of the hour.”

Lothíriel called out and the children who had been playing in the corner stilled, one of them holding a very excited puppy in his lap. One of the younger boys made his way over and was swept up into his father’s arms and set upon his lap so that he faced the hobbits nearly at eye level.

“Hail Théodred, son of Éomer.” The hobbits said together.

“H’lo,” the boy replied shyly, looking through a mass of blonde curls at them. Merry smiled at the lad and he drew himself up a bit straighter. “I am glad you have come.”

“The honour is ours.” Pippin replied.

Lothíriel kissed the boy and sent him back to his playmates. There was a sudden bustle of activity near the door of the hall.

“My lord King!” One of the sentries called out. “There are riders on the plains. They bear the colours of the House of the Steward and of the White Lady of Rohan.”

“The last of our guests are arriving.” Éomer announced to the hall in general. “Make the final preparations! Tonight is a night for celebrations!”

\------

The tables nearly groaned under the weight of the food and drink they bore. Unlike the sedate banquets of Gondor, where plates of pre-cut food were passed amongst diners by servants, all the food was on the table and each man reached for what he liked best to eat. Lothíriel, long since accustomed to this boisterous dining style, feared that it would greatly disadvantage her hobbit guests and thus placed the best dishes within their easy reach. She soon saw that she need not have worried, as the hobbits were perfectly able to get the food they wanted and woe to the man who blocked their path. Pippin in particular was amusing to watch as the ale made him brave enough to climb onto the table to liberate a treacle tart from a plate placed on the far side.

“Here, Knight of Gondor,” said Lothíriel, laughing as she passed him the pitcher of custard, “This will complete your dish, I think.”

Pippin looked slightly abashed that his display of bad manners had been observed by one so highborn, but her smile put his fears to rest. Beside him, Merry was deep in conversation with Éowyn as Faramir watched them fondly and snatches of songs began to float through the hall as the Rohirrim turned from their plates to their cups at the conclusion of the main meal.

Théodred sat between his mother and father in a place of honour, though he slumped forward with weariness long before the feasting was done. He did not fuss, however, and remained in his place at the table. At length, Éomer stood and hammered his drinking horn on the table to silence the hall.

“Three years ago this day, my son Théodred was born!” he announced. Although this was a surprise to no one, the hall filled with cheers at the statement.

“I named him for my brave cousin, the son of Théoden King, who was taken from us in the Last War.” Éomer caught his sister’s eye and bowed his head slightly before continuing. “Those were dark times, my friends, dark times for all of us. I did not name my son to commemorate the darkness, but to celebrate the light that followed my cousin all the days of his life, the light that he died defending. I named my son Théodred because there should be a king with that name in Meduseld someday!”

Cheers rang through the hall again, as the assembled warriors and their ladies called out Théodred’s name and the name of his father. Éomer held up a hand to silence them again.

“Tonight we name my son’s protectors. I know that it is our custom to name strong men whose valour has been proven upon the field of battle, but this is not the path my lady and I have chosen to follow.

“For when it comes to valour and bravery, when I look among my kin for courage and skill at arms, I see there my sister, the White Lady of Rohan, who slew the WitchKing of Angmar when no man could. Therefore, I ask that she serve my son as heortemoder, and tell him of her valiant deeds that he might gain some measure of what it means to be a Rider of Rohan!”

The very roof shook as the celebrants cried out their approval of Éomer’s choice. Éowyn’s eyes were bright with tears as her brother conferred such an honour upon her. She rose and went to the head of the table. She picked up a jug from one of the side boards and poured a measure of its contents into the cup that sat at Théodred’s place. She kissed her nephew on the top of his head and stood proudly behind him as her brother took the floor again.

“The tale of my sister’s bravery is well known and hardly needs retelling. But there are many kinds of bravery in this world, and some of them fit into such great tales that they are never told of themselves.” Éomer continued. “My sister is an excellent example of strength at arms and courage in battle, but I would have my son know that many deeds can be considered great and even something that seems small may carry great weight before the end of all tales.”

At the word ‘small’, both Merry and Pippin had perked up. Merry looked rather bewildered, but a quiet smile began to creep across Pippin’s face.

“After the Battle for Minis Tirith, the army rode out for Mordor, to face the Black Lord Sauron and to meet the Doom of Middle Earth.” Éomer’s tone was dark as he recalled the desolation of those times and those who had made the march with him were quieted by the memory. “But not all of us made that march. Some were wounded already following in great acts on the Field of Pelennor and they remained behind to heal and to hope that their healing was not in vain.

“The great city was stripped of most able-bodied men and many of the siege engines were broken by the Nazgûl. Walls that looked strong stood precariously and would collapse under the slightest weight or breath of air.

“One day, one such arch collapsed and landed squarely on the house that stood below it. Hours passed, as those inside lay wounded with neither water nor food nor medicine, and the few men left in the city laboured hard to free them.”

Merry was looking firmly at his plate, very much aware that the eyes of Éowyn and Faramir were on him, and that their attentions were drawing the gaze of others.

“Word of this labour reached my sister in the house where she lay healing and she told her companion when he came to visit her that afternoon. Immediately, he decided to go and have a look himself for he reasoned that there might be a place where he could fit through that a man might overlook.

“So it was that Meriadoc Brandybuck came upon the scene. Chaos surrounded the collapse as men struggled to move the fallen rocks and women gathered around with water and bandages for when the wounded were finally freed. But the brave hobbit saw a place in the rockfall where he could crawl through. He went to the Steward, who was by now overseeing the operation, and insisted that he be allowed through with water and whatever else he could carry.

“Lord Faramir was reluctant to allow him, for hobbits had proved themselves time and again, but they still look like children and Faramir was loath to risk one so small where he himself could not follow. But Merry insisted and finally was allowed to crawl inside.

“Our brave hobbit was as good as he had hoped to be. He carried water and food and medicine into the fallen house, making several trips and then remaining with the wounded until the men finally managed to free them some hours later.

“And yes, his cousin slew the troll. And yes, his cousin and countryman bore the One Ring to Mount Doom itself, but never let it be said that Meriadoc the Magnificent, Knight of Rohan, came home with any less glory and with any less evidence of mettle proven than any other member of his Fellowship!”

Merry could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall bearing into his skull, but he looked up and into the eyes of Théodred. The boy’s eyes were glistening with admiration.

“Meriadoc, son of Saradoc, I ask of you a favour.” Éomer declared. “Guide my son along the same path that you yourself tread. Show him that size matters not when it comes to the determining of valour. Teach him that bravery is determined by the strength of his heart, regardless of the reach of his arm!”

“My Lord King,” Merry choked out, rising to his feet. “It is my honour to accept.”

Again, the hall seemed to shake as the Rohirrim cheered and clapped and stamped their feet and hammered their tankards upon the table. Pippin stood up on his chair and let loose a series of yips that stood out against the deeper celebrations of the warriors. Merry smiled and went to stand beside Éowyn.

“I name you heortefaeder!” Éomer roared over the din, which then grew louder. Merry poured a small amount of mead into Théodred’s cup, mixing it with the mare’s milk that Éowyn had poured in earlier.

Théodred raised the cup to his lips and drank. His face clearly indicated that he did not care for the mead, prompting laughter from the warriors in front of him, but he drained the draught and set the empty cup back on the table before him. Cheers rose again and his father caught him up and carried him off, laughing, to bed.

\------

The fire burned low at the night grew long and the Rohirrim sought their beds. Éomer found Merry sitting beside the hearth on a divan and took a seat beside him.

“Éowyn must have carried tales.” The hobbit said quietly.

“She did.” Éomer admitted. “I had written to ask her what she thought of choosing you and she wrote me that story in reply.”

“It didn’t seem like very much at the time.” Merry said. “I was just the right size.”

“Faramir said that it took hours.” Éomer pointed out. “I should not have liked to spend that much time in a building that was falling down around my ears.”

“I thought about Frodo.” Merry said. “That made my danger seem less.”

Merry’s feet swung above the floor, but the hobbit was used to it.

“You left out quite a bit, you know.” Merry said after a pause. “I had a lot of help. Some of the children passed me things through the hole and the men that built the rock-mover laboured four hours without breaking.”

“Aye,” said Éomer. “And who struck the first blow upon the Foul King so that my sister might win the glory that came with killing him? No one does great deeds alone, Merry. Of all the peoples in this Middle Earth, hobbits should know that best. And yet the world remembers heroes as those who stood alone and conquered all. Maybe that is yet another piece of wisdom that you will teach my son.”

“I think, my King, that if he inherited your wisdom he will be well enough equipped on his own.” Merry said.

“Perhaps if it came along with his mother’s patience and common sense!” Éomer replied, a smile breaking on his weathered face.

The man and the hobbit sat in silence for a long time as the fire burned lower and the sounds of the hall faded even more into the darkness.

“I am glad you were with him at his end.” Éomer said finally. “I do not remember where I was when I heard the Nazgûl scream, my heart quailed. I was not with my King when he met his Doom, but I am glad that he did not face it alone.”

“He asked for you and for Éowyn and she lay not five feet from his side.” Merry said, surprised to find that the memory no longer caused him as much pain as it once had. “He named you King with his last thought.”

“There were many great deeds of that time, Meriadoc. Too many almost to be remembered.” Éomer thrust a poker into the fire in an effort to build it up again. “Even those that seemed small at the time were great in truth, I think. The times were great and so all the deeds must be too. I want you to teach my son that there are many ways to greatness and that he does not need to be the mightiest of men to achieve it.”

“I will, my king.” Merry said, his voice ringing with promise. “This is a great task, but I think it is also a great gift. I am glad to be so honoured.”

“I drink to you, Master Holdwine,” Éomer raised a cup that Merry hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “Long may Hobbit sense guide the way of Men.”

Merry smiled.

 _And in the year of 3025, Éomer King sent out messengers far and wide to invite his noble friends to the fulluhtÞeaw of his son and many of them came in spite of great distance and small stature. And Éomer King declared that his sister, The White Lady of Rohan and that his esquire, Meriadoc the Magnificent would serve young Théodred as heortemoder and heortefaeder, that they might teach the Heir of the Mark that courage and bravery depend most of all upon the strength of the heart.  
\- - The Latter Days of the House of Éorl (translation)_

**finis**

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This was the story that wrote itself. I have decided that Éowyn travels under her own colours, because I like the idea, and also because I think Faramir knows how to give a girl a really fantastic wedding present. I created the three-year tradition of naming god-parents although there is a word for “godfather” in Old English. I didn’t like it, so I went with “heart-father” (and mother) because I liked the sounds more.
> 
> Gravity_Not_Included, December 11, 2006


End file.
